A Study In Red Underwear
by kcsecretgarden
Summary: John Watson finds his new school to be unlike anything he'd ever anticipated...and even more mystifying is his new roommate, Sherlock Holmes. With disappearing students, drug scandals and a budding romance that shocks John to the core his transfer wasn't exactly the escape from past horrors that he was hoping for. Centers around Johnlock but there are definitely more pairings.


Hello. So high school AU's are my guilty pleasure and I simply couldn't resist inflicting that on Sherlock and John. Here it is. This is rated M because there certainly will be lemon later in the story, and lots of it, but I warn you now I'm not going to jump right into it. Sexual tension must be built. It is Johnlock, after all. And there will actually be a storyline. Alrighty. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

Fear.

Ice cold, incapacitating, desensitizing.

My limbs and lungs trapped in its frigid grip, no escape in sight.

Drums, drumming, what was that noise?

My heartbeat, too fast, much too fast.

Impossible.

With it beating this fast it should have pierced a hole straight through my chest by now.

Screams echoed.

Guns fired.

A shrieking pain bit through my leg and I fell, collapsing into a molten crimson pool. So much red, spinning around me as footsteps approached, those horrid, fatally familiar footsteps –

Sweet air finally filled my lungs as I jerked awake, bolting upright in bed. My lungs expanded as if they'd been crushed by some kind of steady, inexorable force for days and sweat dripped from my face, mingling with tears as it fell.

"Shit," I spat furiously, my anger fueled by far more complex emotions churning through my stomach and threatening to push stinging bile further up my throat. "Shit," I repeated, more of my breath returning as I buried my face in my hands in an attempt to regain my composure.

_It's over,_ I reminded myself resolutely, _It's been over for months. It's not going to happen again, get over it, why can't you get the hell over it?_

A sudden knock on my door jerked me from my reverie and I instinctively flinched back towards the wall behind me. "Young master John?" _Idiot, _I berated myself, _It's just Albert._

"Come in," I replied, grimacing at the way my voice unintentionally shook and hoping the man didn't notice. If he did, he was wise – or kind – enough to hide the fact as he entered.

"Good morning," he greeted me politely, bowing slightly, "I have started preparations for your breakfast. The car will be ready to take you to school in approximately one hour. Your father returned from Japan with several new varieties of tea, would you prefer one of those or your customary black?"

"Oh, ah, black's fine," I mumbled, rubbing my swollen eyes and slowly swinging my legs to the edge of my four poster bed.

"Very well. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"Ah, no, thank you Albert." The man bowed his graying head once more before leaving and pulling the door gently shut behind him. He knew I wouldn't want anyone around for what was to come next. I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth, bracing myself. The mornings were always the worst. I scooted the farthest I could to the edge of my bed and lowered my right foot all the way to the ground. No problem there. Next, with one hand tightly gripping the wooden pole at the foot of my bed I slowly stood with all my weight concentrated on the right leg before slowly shifting to the left.

Instantly, sharp pain rocked through me centralized at that hideous patch of scar tissue just above my left knee and I immediately withdrew the pressure, clapping my free hand over my mouth to stifle the agonized cry that managed to escape. I leaned against the bedpost and forced myself to stay upright rather than crawl back into bed. _The first try is always the worst,_I reminded myself, _The first is always the worst._ After a few moments I had recovered enough to try again, and a couple attempts later I was able to hobble across the not so laughable expanse of my bedroom floor and into the attached bathroom, collapsing against the counter. The cool ceramic surface was placating against my fevered palms and I looked up at the mirror before me, the first thing I noticed a fresh bout of perspiration standing out on my brow from the exertion.

I was frightened by what I saw in my reflection.

My eyes, a dark enough blue that they could sometimes be misconstrued as brown were sunken, framed by dark circles that hadn't been there just a few months ago. My previously healthy complexion had turned sallow, my cheekbones and jaw considerably more prominent than they should have been. I'd let my sandy blonde hair grow quite longer than I was accustomed to and I reached my left hand up to brush it out of my eyes. As I watched its slow progress in the mirror the hand began to shake, a tremor rocking it and I furiously clenched it into a fist, driving it into the mirror with enough force to bruise. Without another glance I turned away from the mirror and limped over to the shower, turning the water up to just this side of scalding.

Warmth brought relief. The heated liquid sliding over my skin seemed to carry some of the pain, some of the haunted nightmares down the drain and away with it so by the time I was finished the raw agony had receded into a mere pang of discomfort. It was still there, still a reminder, but not nearly as prevalent.

Wrapping a towel around my waist as I stepped out of the shower, I bypassed the mirror completely and made my way back to my bed. While I'd been in the shower Albert had reentered and laid my clothes out atop the freshly made sheets. Subconsciously settling more of my weight on the right half of my body I reached out to examine the standard black V-neck sweater with the small purple and white crest embroidered on the left breast, the deep violet tie, the stark white shirt, and the black slacks. From today on these would be the main principle of my dress; this was the summer uniform of Hoyler's Academy for Promising Young Men. No, I'm not kidding. That's really what they decided to call it.

_Well,_ I sighed, reaching for the slacks, _No sense hating it until I've tried it. At least it's a pretty shade of purple._

I emerged into the dining room just as Albert was finishing setting my tea beside my breakfast. My stomach roiled nervously, the scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast with marmalade not looking even the least bit appealing, but I forced myself to take a seat anyway. _Who knows how the food will be, this might be the last decent meal I get for the next nine months._

"Thanks Albert, it looks great." I picked up my fork and ignored his skeptical look. The old man's piercing blue eyes had watched me since the day I was born, he knew me far too well to believe any of my crap. However, that also meant that he knew me well enough not to give me a hard time about it.

"Ah, before I forget," he reached into his pocket and withdrew a medium sized black velvet box, handing it to me. "This is from your father. Urgent business arose in America but he wanted to give this to you before you left." I tried to ignore the sinking sensation in my stomach. After all, I'd known that it was far more likely my father wouldn't be here to see me off than for him to actually say goodbye. But at least he'd thought of me. Carefully, I opened the box and it revealed perhaps the most beautiful watch I'd ever laid eyes on, sterling silver and sleek as you could wish, it even fit perfectly around my wrist.

I smiled tightly. "Tell him I say thank you, if you would. It's a spectacular gift."

Albert nodded. "Of course. Ah, and this is from your sister."

My brows raised in surprise. "Now I'm guessing that's a gift father does not know about." My old butler winked as he handed me a flatter, more rectangular box and I gasped in delight upon opening it. "Why this is – "

"Indeed. Your very own cell phone."

"Fantastic," I breathed. Surprising though it may seem for a boy of my age and social class I'd never had a phone. After all, they were forbidden at nearly all of the most prestigious private schools and at home there was no use for one. I remembered asking my father for one at some point and his response had been simply, "I will buy you one immediately upon your acceptance to Cambridge." That was all. Once father made up his mind there was nothing to change it but the hand of God himself, and even then my father would give the big man a run for his money.

"But why?" I frowned, "I love Harriett and all, but she's not exactly rolling in dough ever since she split off from the family."

"I believe she, ah," Albert coughed delicately, "Had a bit of trouble with her partner and the two cut off relations. She said this phone still has a year left on the pre-paid contract and she was certain you'd get more enjoyment out of it than she." I turned the phone over and sure enough, engraved on the back was:

_Harry Watson_

_From Clara_

_xxx_

A wistful smile touched my lips. Despite the supposed 'shame' she'd brought on our family via her life choices I still loved my sister dearly and wished her best. Perhaps when I was officially out of this house and on my own we could reconnect…but I knew her well enough that she wouldn't want me to ruin my relationship with father on her account. Part of me agreed, but another part almost wished I would risk it.

"If you so happen to talk to her, kindly tell her thank you also. And that I wish her well with, ah, whoever she finds herself with in the future."

"Of course, young master. Now hurry and eat, if you would, the time of your departure is fast approaching." I nodded and forced myself to eat at least a few bites – after all, Albert had made it especially for me – before downing my tea and preparing to leave.

"Very well, then," Albert nodded as he saw me out the front door, "Your luggage is in the trunk and you should arrive by late afternoon. If you could call upon your arrival I know your father and I would greatly appreciate it."

"Definitely." I smiled up at the man whose gentle presence had been ever beside me from the moment I opened my eyes for the first time. "See you in nine months."

"Yes. See you in nine months, John." The fact that he used my name alone was enough to convey the unspoken: that he would miss me dearly. It was almost enough to make up for the fact that my father wouldn't. Almost.

As the black town car pulled away from our vast estate I looked back at the manor, splendid in its glorious white sheen and royal structure, filled with all the memories of my childhood, good, bad, and ugly. I never imagined that I would be so very changed the next time I laid eyes on it.


End file.
